an unopened envelope

The typewriter went silent as Otto glared at the unopened envelope on the table. Wavy lines covered the two cent stamp, while the opposite corner held perfect upright letters; the name of the big city poetry society that had run a newspaper ad for a writing contest last month. 

“Bunch of snobs,” Otto grumbled, stabbing at the typewriter keys with his pointer fingers, beating another word onto the page. “Wouldn’t know a piece of good poetry if it bit them in the—” The typewriter dinged.  

He shoved the reel back to the beginning of the next line and scowled darker at the envelope. 

The name in the center front was his. 

“What do they know, really?” His knuckles grew tight as he punched harder, his gut tighter. “Just a bunch of crusty, old men who care more about their precious society’s clout than recognizing actually talent.”

His fingers slipped as the front door crashed open, leaving the stars to ‘glisten brightluj’ on his page. 

“Otto, I’m back!” Ora called down the hallway. “They were out of eggs for today, but Mrs. Morre said she’d save some from her hens for me in the morning. Oh, and Kate Bennet says hello. I’m telling you, brother, that girl is sweet on you. You really should call on her one of these days.”

Otto snatched the envelope from the table, tearing into the hallway, nearly colliding with his sister. 

“It came,” he panted, holding up the envelope.

Ora stared at him for three heartbeats before snatching the letter, paper scraps scattering the floor as she mangled it open. 

“Dear Mr. O. T. Walker. Congratulations on—”

Otto swept her up in a hug, Ora’s words dissolving into laughter and happy tears.

“I knew it!” he boasted with a grin.

“You did not!” Ora smacked him on the arm, continuing to deny his brags as they laughed and danced in the hallway.

But he did. And someday, the whole world would know of his sister’s genius under her own name.